Chocolate
by azure feathers
Summary: A look into Matt and Mello's peculiar relationship. MXM and such
1. Chocolate

Chocolate

**...**

"I'm back," I call into the apartment, my voice flat. Kicking off my shoes, I stride over to the kitchen and set the groceries on island counter, grimacing at the tightness they've left behind in my arms. He'll pay for this, I think to myself, clenching a fist at the thought of revenge.

"Thank god, Matt. I was wasting away over here while you took your sweet time."

My roommate stalks out of the bedroom haughtily, as if he were the king of the world and not a backwards genius in foreign territory. If I squint hard enough, I'm sure I can see the regal red velvet cape cascading from his shoulders. His straight, blonde hair is without a strand out of place, as usual, and when he rests his hand on the island just short of an unpacked grocery bag I see that he's been messing with his cuticles again. Whenever he uses that weird push-back thing to make them all neat and oval, they're red for a few hours after. His nails are neatly filed, too, and his hand is so white is practically blends in with the counter.

"What were you doing, anyway? Flirting with the cashier?"

I clench my teeth. He will _definitely _pay for this.

"If you must know, I was searching the four corners of the Earth trying to find chocolate that suits your infuriatingly specific tastes."

"If you must know," Mello replies, mimicking my voice, "Earth is round."

A newly bought cylinder of salt whizzes past his head.

"Whoa there, tiger. Anyway, what'd you get me?" He sniffs and seats himself on the stool beside the counter, looking smug. Probably because I do whatever he wants.

Choosing to suppress a clever retort, I dig my hand into a bag and pull out a bar of chocolate.

"Godiva... Orange twist, roast almond, original milk."

"I hate Godiva."

I sigh. He didn't hate it last week.

"Nestle dark?"

"Cocoa content?"

"Sixty percent. They didn't have eighty, like you asked for."

"No way. You can have it."

When we're done I've divided the chocolate bars into two haphazard piles: ones he can tolerate and ones "I'd rather shove up my ass than eat". The latter pile is much larger than the former, a fact at which I am acutely irritated.

"Can't you just eat your damn chocolate?" I gripe, running a hand through my hair in exasperation.

"Sure I can. This is my chocolate, which I will most definitely eat." He denotes the smaller, acceptable pile with a wave of his hand, which already holds one of the new bars. "These, however, I gave to you. Remember? It would be cruel of me to eat _your _chocolate, now wouldn't it?" He gets this smug grin on his face and I swear I can feel the veins popping out on my neck.

"Whatever, Mello. You're too picky. We're not made of money, you know-"

"You're cute when you bitch," He interrupts, totally disregarding the topic at large.

"A fact I loathe." I sigh. I know where this is going.

"But I don't." He circles the counter and, before I can stop him, presses me against the wall.

"You're going to get chocolate all over my vest."

"You won't care."

"Who says?"

"I say."

And he's right. I won't. Most of our evenings end like this, with me pressed against a wall and Mello doing what he pleases. That's not to say that I necessarily put up a resistance, but...

His lips meet mine gracefully, instantly shaking all other thoughts from my head. I am suddenly very appreciative of his taste in chocolate. _Maya Gold,_ I can just barely make out on the label of the now-abandoned bar on the counter. It's tangy and tastes of orange, with a hint of some exotic spice. It tingles on my lips when he pushes himself away, breathless, and I can't help but pull him back to me before he's regulated his air flow. Just to taste the chocolate, I tell myself, but it's very clearly a lie. I wouldn't be moaning into Mello's mouth if that were the case.

"Kind of enthusiastic today, aren't we?" He mutters into my ear after a moment, and I feel his pinky trail along the waistband of my jeans. I bite my lip in an attempt not to utter a sound that would most definitely seem enthusiastic.

"You're no different," I retort, flinching when I feel his teeth on my earlobe.

"At least I don't pant like a dog." My cheeks turn red when I realize that I am indeed breathing like a golden retriever on a hot day after a game of fetch.

"I love it when you go red like that." His voice is muffled by the mouthful of neck he's just captured between his teeth.

Mello's hands move to my pants and he slides the button out of its loop, as slowly and deliberately as possible. Making me wait so I can sit here and need him for longer. I know how he works, of course, what he needs, but I can't help giving it to him. It isn't my fault- I'm built for speed, not endurance. If that makes any sense.

"Bastard," I finally gasp, and he laughs. He takes my hand and pulls away from me, and for a desperate moment I think he's gotten bored. But I soon realize which direction this is headed: the bedroom.

As he saunters to our shared room, pulling me along by the thumb, I cast an appreciative glance at his outfit. If there's one thing I like about his choice of clothing (other than the fact that it's tight in all the right places), it's that it's so incredibly easy to take off.

**...**

**A/N: Wanting to write a Matt/Mello fic was actually the reason I joined ff in the first place, so I'm glad to finally have done it. I feel accomplished and such now. :D**


	2. Wants

Wants

**...**

"You never pay attention to me," My roommate whines in my ear as I concentrate on not paying attention to him. I'm playing an assassin game and my target is just ahead, wide open and unguarded. If I can just get a _little_ closer-

Mello pinches my side and I yelp, pushing the joystick entirely too far. The little icon in the corner of the screen turns red and the guards are yelling, going after my character with their swords. It's too late for me to save him and he dies without theatrics.

"Damnit, Mello, you could at least wait a second. Or, you know, pause my game. Not that I wouldn't still be pissed."

"I can't help it. I'm being neglected. That's a crime, you know."

"Only when it's a child."

"I'm a kid at heart."

I glare down at the blonde, whose head is currently situated in my lap. I, like any normal person, enjoy playing games in the upright position- Mello, however, drapes himself over the entire couch and makes sure to stretch each limb as far as possible in every direction. Kind of like a cat, only bigger and far more annoying.

"You know, I'm okay with it if you play racing games, 'cause then I get to play too."

"I always beat you."

"That's not the _point._" He frowns up at me and I feel a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. I suppress it, however, and instead frown right back.

"If you'd just behave when I'm not playing two-player games, then maybe I'd play with you more often!"

Mello grins devilishly. "Wait, what kind of play are we talking about? 'Cause if it doesn't involve controllers, I will behave for you until the end of time." He pushes himself up with a bony arm and tugs at my sleeve, pulling me down until our mouths crash together. His arms go around my neck and I find myself being dragged downward until he's on top of me.

"Mello," I mumble into his cheek, "Now isn't really the time..."

He straightens up. "You're right, it isn't. I've decided that you're going to take me to lunch anyway, so this can wait." Then there's a big cold rush of air as he gets off of me and runs his fingers through his hair. I can do nothing but open and close my mouth and look stunned, but I've just been told I'm treating my pseudo-boyfriend ("friend with benefits" might be a more accurate term) to lunch so I think it's justified.

"I never said that!" I reply after a minute, sitting up and frantically trying to straighten my rumpled clothing.

"Then it's a plan!"

**...**

"This is the dumbest idea you've ever had, Mello," I mutter, glaring down at my plate and hoping it will bounce off and singe that perfect blonde hair of his. The restaurant is fancy, Italian, and brand-spankin'-new; it still smells a bit like paint from when it was still under construction a week before. It's packed this particular day, being so new and already with high ratings. I can feel Mello smirking at me across the table. He knows I hate people, especially large groups of them- although I'm certainly much better at talking to them than he is. I tend not to piss them off on the first word.

"You're cute when you're shy."

"My fist is cute when it's in your face." I still haven't had the opportunity to exact revenge on him for making me spend four hours looking for his chocolate yesterday, and this whole lunch thing is just another addition to my long list of things to get back at him for. I've never _actually_ managed to make him pay for anything. It has something to do with how intimidating he is, I think. Or maybe because whenever I'm thinking about ways to get revenge I'm being pushed onto the bed. Either way, I can tell that my constant failures to object are definitely not leading Mello's decisions in a direction I like. I just don't have the balls to tell him that I really do mind impromptu lunch dates, or that he's not always as amazing as he thinks he is. That's not to say he isn't amazing- which I would never admit to his face –but he's a little over the top sometimes.

"Sir?" The waiter shakes me from my reverie and I realize that Mello's already ordered. I glance up at him with a bored, blank look and ask for ravioli, even though I don't like pasta much, and resume staring at my plate.

"Hey," Mello says after a few minutes of this, tapping me on the head. I look up. "You're not very talkative today."

I snort. "Am I ever?"

"Well, no, but... I dunno, forget about it."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Whatever."

He huffs and leans on his hand, smashing his cheek against his lips and creasing his face all funny. I can't help but laugh a little, because he's always acting so haughty and holier-than-thou that I rarely get to see him looking silly. Mello glares at me and that just makes him look funnier, and I have to cover my mouth with a hand so that I don't laugh too loud. Then the waiter comes with the food (quick service; I decide to tip him well) and a stern glance and we dig in.

It's delicious, of course, and I can't help smiling when I take another bite. Mello sees this and we both know it's another point for him on our imaginary scoreboard. Mello: three bazillion, Matt: none. For some reason, whatever he does always seems to work out. It's kind of aggravating because I don't contribute much. I just sort of sit around and play games. Maybe Mello has a point when he complains about me ignoring him.

**...**

Several hours later we're back at the flat. Mello's just melted a bar of chocolate and is proceeding to dribble it over a giant bowl of popcorn. We (and by "we" I mean he) decided that we'd watch a movie before retiring for the night since we've been slacking on Kira research lately. In any event, the popcorn looks delicious and Mello seems content so I'm happy. When he goes to bed, of course, I'll have to make up the game parts I lost when he screwed up my assassination attempt, but that won't be hard. I'm used to gaming long after he's retired.

"Say 'ah'," Mello says and I allow him to feed me a piece of the chocolate-covered popcorn. "How is it?"

"Delicious," I admit, rolling it around on my tongue. "What kind did you use?"

"What, the chocolate? I dunno. Cherry something. Nice, isn't it?"

"Mm."

We sit down at the couch, and there's a weird pause before he turns on the TV.

"What?" I ask after a moment, suppressing a sigh.

"You're being weird."

"How?"

"You're not arguing enough. You should have told me to stop wasting popcorn or something, or that we should just go to bed so we can get up early."

"What's the point?"

He arches an eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'what's the point?'"

"I mean, where will that get me? You always win when we argue anyway. So what's the point?"

He goes quiet. The silence hangs heavily in the air, and I realize that maybe I said more than I should have. I mean, it's one thing to think about things that make you discontent, but it's another thing entirely to actually talk about them. A difficult thing that I'm not sure if I want to go through.

"I don't boss you around _that _much," He says feebly.

"Ha! That's a good one." I can hear the bitterness in my voice and it makes me want to smack myself.

"Maybe if you weren't such a pussy, you'd get your way more often."

"Maybe if you weren't such a self-centered asshole, I wouldn't have to fight to get my way at all."

He cringes. It's weird because I've called him so many names before, and yet that is the one that affects him. Finally, I've gotten my feelings through his thick skull, but I don't feel any better for it.

"Whatever, Matt. I'm going to bed."

"Have fun."

"Thanks, I will."

Then I'm alone with my conscience and a big bowl of chocolate popcorn. I sit there for a minute before covering the bowl in plastic wrap and putting it in the fridge for tomorrow or something. When I get a glass of water, I happen to glance inside the trashcan.

He used the Godiva.

**...**

**A/N: Surprise second chapter :D I just felt like the idea wasn't quite finished, haha. I just love this pair; I can't help but write for them xD**

**Assassin's Creed is the model for the "assassin game", haha. Everything belongs to its respective owner and such.**

**Also, as always, remember to vote on my profile :D**


	3. Tempted

Tempted

**A/N: I need to stop writing in the middle of the night. T: Sorry, this isn't really that great, but it's something. xD I like it, anyway.**

…

Silence continues between us for the next few days. The apartment is a warzone running rampant with curt remarks, dirty looks, and restless shifts. Mello and I speak only of things pertaining to Kira, and we actually get a lot done. Perhaps abstaining from fucking like rabbits is the only way to really get anything accomplished.

On the fourth day of our war, Mello is cracking. I can see it in his eyes, and I can finally mark one point on my side of our imaginary scoreboard. There is nothing I have more of than patience, not to mention Mello's a horn dog and his dick is probably ready to fall off from the strain of abstinence... well, unless he's hiring prostitutes when I'm not looking, but seeing as neither of us has left the house for more than five minutes since our conflict began and Mello doesn't have three-story-long hair for his whores to climb up on moonlit nights, that seems pretty impossible.

At any rate, Mello confronts me that night, and the way he does it is so predictable. He likes to talk with his body, and for some poor, misguided reason he thinks that will work on me. He starts with the usual "I'm reasonable" approach:

"Matt... why are we doing this? It's stupid." He slithers in. "Why don't we just call it a day?"

I unfortunately, am sorely unprepared. I'm sitting on the couch, and while I have been expecting this since the very first day, I'd forgotten to plan for it while I'm sitting _here_, at my most vulnerable. It's easy for him to get on top of me, and when he gets on top of me I pretty much drop what I'm doing in any situation.

"Can't we just kiss and fuck and make up?" Mello asks beside my ear, letting his hot breath roll down my neck. As he wedges his leg between mine, my pants seem to get three sizes smaller in the crotch region. Shit.

Mustering all the force of my gigantic gamer's muscles, I shove Mello off me and he falls with a _thud_ between the couch and the coffee table. I carefully get up and pick my way around his jumbled body parts.

"Matt—"

"God dammit, Mello, did you ever think that maybe I'm not just a hole for you to stick your dick in? Oh, wait, no, you do think of me as something else—the errand boy, running around to get your goddamn chocolate according to this huge goddamn list, making sure I get your preferences right down to how much calcium each goddamn bar contains! Saves you a few hours, right? Then when you get home from being an asshole, you've got me laying around and batting my eyelashes at you whenever you so much as breathe in my direction. Yeah, that's a real nice life, isn't it?" I take a moment to catch my breath and walk to our shared bedroom. "Well, until you're ready to make some concessions in that perfect life of yours, use a sock and body lotion. They do the trick just as well as I do."

I slam the door and lock it behind me. On the other side, I slide down the wood and rest my head in my hands. It will be a long night.

...

**A/N: I just love it when they fight... |||OTL**


End file.
